


Solution in Radicals

by handschuhmaus



Series: Applied Passions [3]
Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell & Related Fandoms
Genre: Abel & Galois: quintic unsolvability fast die young, Acting, Algebra and references to the history thereof, Alternate Universe - Academia, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Politics, Anthropology, Astronomy, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Non-binary character, Pineapples, Trans Male Character, Women doing science
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 10:35:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11160126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/handschuhmaus/pseuds/handschuhmaus
Summary: One day, debatably one Arabella is thankful for, a LARPer in their college library finally convinced Jonathan Strange that anthropology would be a likable major.Now she can settle down to her own focus, except...It's not the 27 club Emma Wintertowne Pole thinks she's going to be a part of, it's just that quintic polynomials are bastards and there's every reason she won't make it to 27.





	Solution in Radicals

"I'll show you if you'd like," her usually quiet classmate offered. It was the last day of the second week of classes and Arabella Strange had had a question, resulting from her deviation from the typical course of math courses (hah!) from a scheduling conflict. She adjusted the stack of books she was about to carry back to the apartment.

"I think I'll get it; partials don't seem too difficult."

"Mmm," ...(was it Pole?) murmured. "You just want to hold the other variables constant."

"It is a bit of a confusing theorem if you ask me," Arabella commented. "And for all that it doesn't tell you much."

(The professor, currently erasing the chalkboard, must have overheard, for he interjected, "I think you'll like the next existence theorem better, then.")

"No, it doesn't," she agreed. "Are you a math major?"

"Physics, actually. Math minor though. Do you--have class after this?" She spoke with concern from experience--the science building, for one, was on the other side of campus, and it was not easy, necessarily, to make it across campus in the time allotted between consecutive classes.

"Down the hall, yes. Emma Pole," she extended a hand for Arabella to shake at the introduction.

"Arabella Strange. If I may be so bold, is it language or education?"

As they exited the classroom, Emma answered hesitantly, as if expecting an uncomfortable reaction. "German. To read Noether, Hilbert, Riemann ...Euler."

She was not entirely certain what it was Emma was expecting, but she nodded politely, "I thought about it, but I'm taking French instead."

"My mother thought I ought to learn it, instead of 'such a harsh, hard language.' Especially after Walter said it was beautiful." Arabella did not know who Walter was, and her new acquaintance seemed to have spoken more freely than had been intended.

"Actually," she confessed, "I'd like to go to CERN, and I _think_ French is a major language there. But--it would let you read Descartes, Lagrange, Fourier, Galois with French."

"Germain," Emma allowed, though with a frown, and it took Arabella a moment to realize it was a name and not an adjective. "CERN? Why does that sound a bit familiar?"

Arabella could tell the overly fond grin was coming to her face, "It's the site of the LHC, the large hadron collider. And a number of other experiments. I actually want to go into nuclear astrophysics, but I know some other students have been, so I'd like to get my fill of high energy particle physics."

And with that they had evidently arrived at Emma's classroom. "That's...interesting. See you around?"

"Sure," Arabella agreed.

...

Twenty minutes later, she was sitting at her own kitchen table tucking into an unexpected second breakfast Jonathan had talked her into while he chattered on about the history of corn. There was nothing in the meal that contained notable amounts of corn, but she was quite aware of its status as an American dietary staple historically, so it had probably come up in some anthropology context. 

He did have interesting things to say about his studies, and at last there was something he threw himself into, with Norrell's project. Trying to find Jonathan a viable niche, or rather encouraging him to find it, had been a trying task. But it was nice having a supportive husband regarding her studies in any case; having grown up mostly with his three female cousins (now the trifecta of surgeon-to-be, electrical engineer, and almost lawyer) and a feminist aunt, Jonathan did not mind her going into a typically math-difficult, typically male-dominated field. 

Curiously, he had guests this morning, but not ones his wife felt obliged to behave differently than normal around. For some reason, Norrell's personal assistant, John Childermass, was here, sitting across from her, drinking coffee, eating some of the leftover holiday baking, wearing a sweater that looked both warm and itchy and heavy boots. John Segundus, a history student, and Mr. and Mrs. Honeyfoot, the librarians, were also visiting, although they were sitting on the sofa and loveseat, drinking what smelled like spiced tea.

"At least do you think I might be able to look at some of them?" Segundus asked, in his always soft voice, when Jonathan had trailed off.

Jonathan turned away from the stove with a plate of the same brunch casserole she was eating. "Well, by me, you certainly can--it's just they actually belong to Norrell, and--"

"He's not willing." Childermass supplied, laconic as usual.

Segundus sighed in disappointment, and Mr. Honeyfoot interjected, signing rapidly as he spoke (although Arabella actually thought the conversation was unrelated to Mrs. Honeyfoot), "But surely he'll think about it at some point. Does he really think John will do harm with the information?"

"He's private about his books. He's a private man." Childremass said simply.

"But maybe you could ask one of us?" Jonathan offered.

The history student explained, "It wouldn't be any use, though. You don't read or understand the language in question, and you wouldn't be able to copy it down without attracting attention." 

"Maybe he'll see his way to asking for help with translation," Childermass offered, in a tone forbidding to further questions.

"Where is Norrell this morning, anyway?" Arabella asked, even though she was looking at the clock and considering whether she needed to get started on her physics homework.

"He's got a couple of interviews, finally. A state senator, and some really elusive psychologist who likes to write about ancient civilizations," Jonathan supplied. "He'll be insufferable afterwards, of course.

"Will you need to get back to campus? I actually have something I need to work on."

"Yes, maybe I'd better go ahead; this week there's a long assignment," she answered.

"I'll go with you," Childermass informed them.

"Well, good luck on your assignment, anyways," said Mr. Honeyfoot. "Come on, John"

Within five minutes, the dishes had been appropriately consigned to the dishwasher, the guests except for Childermass had departed, and Jonathan was carrying a box out the door towards the car, waiting for her to lock up their apartment.

He dropped her off at the science building and Arabella resolved to focus on her assignments rather than on whatever was going on in the anthropology department until her classes were finished for the day. Emma did come to mind, and she wondered if anything would come of the acquaintance. But it certainly wouldn't happen while she worked on this problem...

**Author's Note:**

> ...probably way too heavily based on my college life. And most of this one written late at night. What am I doing?


End file.
